Everyone’s got a different story on how they became a magical girl, though I’ve noticed that most stories follow the same pattern with a few variations. I understand. If it’s not broken, don’t fix it, right?

I’d say my story is a bit different, but then again, I myself am a bit different from your average magical girl. I became one at age seven, and killed my first Shade six months later.

Perhaps trying to fix something that’s not broken will only break it more.

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Once, when she was only eight, Suravi had fallen while climbing the mango tree in her friend Rana’s backyard, landing hard and breaking an arm. It’d been fast — one moment she was up in the branches, scrambling to catch up with Rana, and the next she was on the ground, pain flaring up right above her elbow.

It wasn’t anything like this.

Yet again, Suravi was falling, but this time, everything seemed to be in slow motion, and nothing made sense.

She could see the sky rippling, inky blackness smeared with thick strips of purple. There were no stars. Were there stars in heaven? She couldn’t remember.

Still, from the twisted, crumbling skyscrapers around her, she got the impression that this place wasn’t exactly heaven.

Guess grandmother was right about western clothing being a one-way ticket to hell…

Still light-headed, Suravi chuckled to herself. Poor woman. She must be here too; we all knew what she wore when she thought nobody was around…

It was a miracle that she wasn’t impaled on one of the many spires of the buildings she fell past, though Suravi doubted even that would do much harm. She was already dead, wasn’t she? She couldn’t exactly die again. There was no point in that.

Really, it didn’t feel like she was falling at all. Sure, the buildings — if they could even be called that — were rushing past, and she could feel the air whooshing up, whistling in her ears and sending her hair into her face, and yet she didn’t feel a single bit of panic, or whatever the appropriate emotion for falling through hell was. She couldn’t move, either, and every part of her felt cold. Numb. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to care. There was only a dull curiosity in her — when was this fall going to end? Would it hurt when she landed, like it had six years ago? No, it would probably be worse, because she was falling from such a high distance.

Really, she wasn’t sure when she’d started falling, or where she’d fallen from. She’d been above all of the buildings just a matter of seconds ago, so she couldn’t have fallen from one of them. Looking at the rippling sky again, she could only wonder if she’d somehow managed to fall from up there, through the black and purple.

Falling from the sky, from heaven, all the way down to hell…

Dimly, Suravi wondered where her mother and sister, Sabi, were. They’d been in the front row, completely crushed, no time to even scream. Hopefully it had been painless; hopefully they weren’t where Suravi was.

She could remember the crash so clearly. Just like her fall from the mango tree, it’d been sudden, no time for her to register what was happening until she was curled up in the back seat, bleeding out from the stomach, glass pierced right through her eyes. There’d been screams then, though not from anyone Suravi knew — just random people who happened to see the accident. They’d been loud at first, the screams and honks, but then they grew quieter, more distant, and Suarvi had known that she was dying, that by the time an ambulance finally got through the crowded streets, it would be too late. They’d announce it on the news: no survivors.

The buildings were far above her now, their tips out of sight, and Suravi could only wonder what was under her. Grass? Concrete? It didn’t matter, really. It would hurt no matter what, unless dead people couldn’t be hurt. That made sense, actually. Even so, it would be nice if she could just turn her head, even a little…

Nope. She was still numb, and everything was limp except her head, which seemed to be stuck staring straight up, unable to turn. Was she paralyzed somehow? Was she —

Before she could finish the thought, Suravi landed. This, at least, was quick and sudden, like landings should be — there was a brief feeling of passing through mist, a flash of white, and then she was sprawled out on the sidewalk, feeling slowly returning to her body.

The first thing she noticed was the sky; no rippling, no purple, just black with a full moon and a few stars. The buildings around her looked similar to the ones she’d fallen past, except they were standing strong, no signs of disrepair. She seemed to be in some sort of business district or office park — wherever she was, no one was around. Perhaps it was too late in the night.

There was no pain in Suravi’s body, just a bit of a pins-and-needles feeling in her hands and feet, and as she tested each limb, she found that they all moved to her liking, albeit somewhat slowly. Shakily, she climbed to her feet and began to look around in earnest.

Hmm. There was some sort of office building towering over her just to her left, glass panels covering the walls. In the moonlight, she could see herself reflected in the glass’s surface, but what she saw only confused her more.

The front of her shirt was soaked through with blood, as was the top part of her skirt. As if triggered by the sight of it, Suravi finally became aware of the distinct metallic stench, watching her face in the mirror as it grimaced. There was blood, but no pain, so…

A quick look under her shirt confirmed Suravi’s suspicions: her stomach wound was gone, not even leaving a scar. Besides, the fact that she could see confirmed that her eyes were no longer bloody and filled with shards of glass.

Perhaps spirits wander in the clothes they died in, but not with the wounds that killed them…

Or am I still alive?

The idea was crazy to think about, and for a moment, Suravi shoved it out of her mind. There was no way she possibly could’ve survived; the car had been completely totaled, front crushed, glass and debris everywhere. There was too much blood on her clothes, and she remembered blood soaking into the car seats, too — far too much blood to lose and still live. Besides, a wound that deep would definitely leave a scar.

And yet…

And yet the cool breeze gently rustling her hair felt real. And yet her heart was still beating, thoughts still the same as ever. There were no spirits or angels or demons or whatever waiting to direct her to eternal paradise or punishment. The street seemed normal, if a bit too quiet. Had she been healed somehow? Was this a miracle? Some kind of divine intervention? It didn’t make any sense, but the more Suravi thought about it, the more convinced she became.

She was alive.

A tension that she hadn’t realized was there left her body, and she exhaled. Thank God. She wasn’t dead, she wasn’t in hell, and if she’d been saved, why wouldn’t her mother and Sabi have been saved too?

Suravi tipped her head back and laughed, then laughed again, almost ecstatic with relief. She was alive, she could move, and she felt like she could do anything. Why not? She’d just survived a car crash and fallen through a netherworld. She stretched her arms out, then spun around, her long skirt moving with her.

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I’m alive!

And she would never, never take life for granted again. If it really was God who’d saved her, she’d stop troubling her mother and start taking Islam seriously, actually put some meaning into her prayers — hell, she’d even stop sneaking food during Ramadan! Then again, perhaps something (or someone) else had saved her. That strange place she’d fallen through… Exactly what was it? Was it all just a dream in her blood-deprived brain?

And exactly where was she now?

The more Suravi looked around, the more confused she became. Everything was so quiet, with such a sterile look to it. There were a few signs, but she could only make a few out, and all of them seemed to be in English. Even the air felt different, cooler, drier.

I’m not in Dhaka anymore, am I?

Another breeze blew past, colder than before, and Suravi became aware of her bloody clothes, how they were sticking to her skin and growing chillier by the second.

It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to walk around with bloody clothes… People might think I murdered someone…

Okay, so her first priority was to find somewhere she could shelter for a bit, get a change of clothes, and maybe ask some locals where she was. She didn’t have any money, though… Perhaps a hospital? They’d definitely want to check her out, even if she wasn’t wounded anymore, but then they’d probably charge her. A mosque might help for free, but were there any around here? Maybe there were churches instead. Suravi had never been to one, but they couldn’t work too differently from mosques, right?

She needed to contact her mother and Sabi, but even if she managed to get ahold of a phone, she had no idea where they were, or if they had their phones. Sabi’s husband hadn’t been in the car, so maybe she could call him. Sure, they weren’t exactly friends, but he’d certainly want to know what’d happened to his wife.

Suravi shivered in her wet clothes, a reminder that she needed to stop wasting time thinking and get somewhere warm.

Right. First things first — find a hospital or church or anyone who could help.

With that in mind, Suravi started walking down the street, no real destination in her mind, trying not to think about how she might be going the wrong way, how she might have been the only one saved. If she could just get out of the cold…

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About half an hour later, Suravi was only sure of two things:

One, that she was hopelessly lost — she’d seen the same building with a pride flag dangling from an upstairs window three times now.

Two, that someone was following her.

It wasn’t obvious at first — in fact, she’d only really noticed about ten minutes ago. For a while, she had brushed off the noises as nothing, especially when she whipped around and saw the same empty street behind her. This place was so empty, so quiet, compared to Dhaka. It was honestly a bit frightening in itself. Eventually, though, she’d recognized the sound of footsteps, and one of the times she looked over her shoulder, she saw something duck around the corner, though she wasn’t entirely sure who it could be.

Fear quickened her steps and her pulse. All of her mother’s warnings about murderers and rapists echoed in her mind, and she stared down at her feet. There was no way in hell she’d let herself be killed tonight, not after she’d just had a near-death experience. No way…

“Hey.”

Suravi didn’t notice the boy in front of her until she’d walked right into him. She tumbled to the ground, landing on her ass, but the boy grabbed her hand and pulled her up. The moment she was back on her feet, Suravi scrambled backwards, narrowing her eyes. If he was the one who’d been following her, how’d he gotten ahead?

“Did you just —”

Suravi paused. What was she trying to say? Did he just walk faster? Round a corner? Teleport?

The boy stepped forward, the nearest streetlamp illuminating more of his appearance. Except for one detail, he looked pretty plain, albeit what the girls at Suravi’s school would call handsome. He was white, with strawberry blonde hair and a perfectly formed, unblemished face. His clothes were normal, nothing of note, but his eyes…

His eyes were bright pink, almost seeming to glow in the dark.

“Are you okay?” the boy asked in English, finally speaking. He had a flat American accent, though his voice was softer than those of the actors she’d seen in all those Hollywood movies.

“You were following me,” Suravi murmured, almost inaudible. It wasn’t a question anymore; she could tell by the look in those weird pink eyes of his.

The boy nodded, flashing her a small smile. “It’s a bit rude to answer a question with another question, but I’ll make an exception for you. You look like you’ve been through a lot.” He paused, took a breath, then continued. “Yes, I’ve been following you for a while. I saw you fall through the Other Side, so I tailed you for a bit.”

Suravi cocked her head. “The Other Side?”

“You know, of the mirror. You really don’t know what’s going on, do you? Did you just start out?”

Suravi didn’t exactly like the feeling of not knowing anything, but even so, if this mystery boy knew what was going on, she wasn’t going to let her pride get in the way of her asking him a question or two. Not every question she had, though — it was better not to show her entire hand. The Other Side must be the weird place with the rippling sky, so…

“I’m sorry,” Suravi began after hesitating for a moment, “but I don’t really understand what you’re saying. Start out in what?”

“Let me explain. That ca—”

The boy stopped, his mouth still open, at the not-so-quiet sound of footsteps.

Suravi frowned, looking over her shoulder and seeing nothing once again. “Did you come with a friend or something?”

The boy glanced around, then turned back to Suravi and shook his head. “No, but I think we need to get out of here.”

We, he said. As if he and Suravi were a team now, partners in whatever this weird business was. His words warmed her heart a bit, though she couldn’t pinpoint why. Still, she trusted her gut, and if her gut said she should trust this pink-eyed boy, so be it.

When the boy grabbed her hand and started walking quickly towards the nearest alley, she didn’t resist.

They walked for what seemed like hours, through row after row of office buildings until they were in what seemed like a more residential area. Suravi tried looking around from time to time, trying to discern where she was, but it was still dark out, and the boy kept tugging on her hand like they had no time to waste.

Sometimes, Suravi’s mother’s words would ring out in her head, lecturing her about following a stranger — a male stranger, at that — to a secondary location, but whenever she was about to consider stopping, the boy would smile back at her and tell her she was keeping up wonderfully, or that they were almost there, whatever “there” meant.

After several more tense minutes, the boy led her into one last narrow alleyway, then stopped, letting go of her hand. “I think we’ve lost her.”

“So you can tell me what’s going on now?”

The boy gave her a careful glance, then said, “I think you need to tell me what’s going on. Your clothes are bloody, but you don’t seem to be hurt. You just fell through the Other Side. And you’ve got the Spade Trump Card. What happened to you?”

“Spade Trump Card? Wha—”

“Actually, never mind that,” the boy interrupted. “You probably don’t know what that is. Suffice to say you have a very important card somewhere, even if you don’t realize it. But I’ve been very rude, haven’t I? I never even asked for your name.”

The thought that maybe she shouldn’t give a stranger her name crossed Suravi’s mind, but she ignored it. This boy knew what was going on, and he’d led her out of what had probably been danger. He just wanted to help, didn’t he?

“I’m Suravi Rahman.”

The boy smiled again. “That’s a beautiful name. Tell me, Suravi, where are you from? You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

“Dhaka.”

“Dhaka?” the boy asked, looking a bit confused. “Is that in India?”

“It’s in Bangladesh, actually.”

“Oh, Bangladesh! I should’ve remembered.”

Suravi sighed. “To be honest, I don’t really know how I got here. Or where here is.”

“Well, I suppose falling through the Other Side would do that to you,” the boy said. “Anyway, you’re in America, as you might’ve guessed. San Francisco, to be specific.”

It didn’t really come as much of a shock, given everything she’d experienced that day, but Suravi still wondered how she’d wound up on a whole other continent. “That’s…”

“Odd, I know. You must be so confused.” The boy reached into one of his jacket’s pockets, then pulled out a small wooden box. “Here. I’ll explain everything, and you can tell me what happened.”

He opened the box, taking out a deck of cards kept together with a rubber band. Putting the empty box back in his pocket, he unbound the cards and began to shuffle them, giving Suravi a be-patient sort of smile.

Suravi wasn’t the patient type. “Um, how is this going to help me?”

The boy looked back up at her, pink eyes seeming to flash in the moonlight. “That’s right — I never introduced myself. I’m Tarot, and this is my namesake deck. Let’s do a reading, shall we?”

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San Francisco. A city of more than eight hundred thousand people — and that only includes the main city area. The city’s known for many things, many people. Too many to bother explaining.

I’m only after one thing. Anything else is just a bonus.